


Rich and Colourful

by colazitron



Category: Inception (2010) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-24
Updated: 2010-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-27 08:19:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colazitron/pseuds/colazitron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you don't need a lot of words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rich and Colourful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sevenpoints](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenpoints/gifts).



**Rich and Colourful**

The morning air is still a little crisp. It’s not exactly cold, but the nights tend to get chilly in September and the sun has only just started peeking out over the roofs of the city. It’s not even that she’s used to much warmer climate or anything, this is actually pretty much her usual deal. It’s just… she likes the summer sun and the warmth it brings even in the early mornings so much better and it hasn’t been that long since summer officially withered and died for this year. (And it had kind of sucked, anyway; weather wise.)

So she drags the blanket with her from the bed and pushes the sliding door of the balcony open to reveal the London morning. The soles of her feet send her warning signals and threats as they touch down on the cold tiles and she hurries across them to sit down in one of the chairs, and draw her legs up in front of her. The blanket goes around her shoulders and she clutches it closed in front of her, creating a cocoon in which she knows her body heat will soon warm her.

From inside the apartment a few early morning sounds – the opening and closing of cupboard doors and drawers, running water, the coffee machine – mix with those of the city below; the growing buzz of cars and people. She doesn’t bother to stifle a yawn and briefly reaches one hand out of her blanket shell to push an errand strand of hair behind her ear. Her hand returns to the warm safety below and her gaze wanders out to sweep across the town. The sky is grey and heavy with clouds and she manages a weak smile. Of course it would be grey and cloudy in London.

The sound of the door being pushed open even further catches her attention and makes her turn her head to see Tom stepping out onto the balcony – smartly wearing thick socks. He balances a tray with a delicate cup of coffee, a jar of what she assumes to be milk or cream and some sticky and crunchy looking almond things that at least qualify as food.

Before she can wish him a good morning or send him a coy smile to tell him exactly that, he mumbles something about cream and turns around, not even setting down his own cup of coffee, still clutched in his other hand. She has learned by now that morning is not his time and just lets him go with a smile. When he comes back and sets down a jar of cream, next to the one already on the tray, she watches his face dissolve into confusion for a moment, before reaching for the cup in his hand to set it down, and then for his t-shirt, to pull him down.

He gets with the program rather quickly (or on autopilot, she can’t be sure and frankly doesn’t care much right now) and braces his hands on the arm rests of the chair she’s sitting in as she tilts her head up and fits their lips together. This, she knows, will never get old. Even though it’s early and they’re both tired and they’ve been doing this for hours only last night, she can already feel the tell-tale tingle wash over her skin and bubble in her head. His lips are just as warm as she remembers them and just as ridiculously soft. A bit clumsy, maybe, but all the more attentive. She makes a contented noise in the back of her throat and when he starts to pull back, she grabs his t-shirt again and pulls him back down. The best thing about it? He complies.

Eventually though her stomach starts to tighten and reminds her that it wants to be fed and her neck starts complaining about the angle and she doesn’t like that waking up makes her considerate of things such as this and the fact that despite the socks his feet must be cold. So she lets him go and instead reaches for one of the jars of cream to pour some into her coffee. He sweetens the cream before bringing it out, so she doesn’t need any sugar.

“Be careful with that, darling, it’s scalding,” he advises her, his voice morning and kiss rough and she feels it send tingles over her warm skin. She likes listening to him talk for hours on end, about anything, really, but she likes the knowledge that they can just sit here in silence because there will be enough later to use to talk even more. So she just smiles, settles back into her chair and waits a few moments before taking her first sip.

**The End**


End file.
